Convergence
by Macx
Summary: Your status as a field agent has been revoked as of now." Aziraphale lost all color. "No…" he managed, hands beginning to tremble. Part of a series. M-M relationship.


**Convergence**  
by Macx

Thank you to Joules for her beta.

Anthony J. Crowley reclined in the old, battered armchair, long legs stretched out in front of him, hands folded over his stomach, eyes roaming around the quaint little book shop Aziraphale loved so much. Washed out jeans, black boots, a figure-hugging black t-shirt and his leather jacket made him stand out more than just one sore thumb. More like a whole battery of thumbs. The sunglasses hiding his eyes from the world, and with it a lot more, were as ill-fitting in this place as was the whole wearer.

Crowley didn't care.

There were few people here, some of them old regulars of Aziraphale's and they were used to strange things. A young man in sunglasses and jeans was among the minor occurrences at the moment. None of them would probably have batted an eye at discovering that the young man was also a demon, a fallen angel.

Crowley's eyes swept over the couple whispering to themselves in the darker corner of the book shop where Aziraphale kept the more adult volumes, those containing rather graphic contents. That an angel even had those books was a minor mystery to Crowley, or at least it had been. Knowing his angel he was quite certain that the ones on display were harmless and that somewhere in the vast storage room there were a lot more compromising editions. Aziraphale was a lot of things, but he wasn't a prude.

He grinned a little.

An old man was talking to his angel at the moment, both wrapped up in books and old editions and the loss of interest in such great works, how the younger generations were only interested in TV, video games and cell phones with their terrible messaging system and whatnot. Crowley silently gave himself a cheer and pats on the shoulder. He was proud of his work in that department.

Watching Aziraphale, Crowley couldn't help but notice how radiant the angel was today. It had nothing to do with the divine in his lover, but more with how they had started out this morning. Crowley slid a little deeper into the arm chair, a pleased smile on his lips. Yes, the morning had started out quite... intense.

He would never have taken the angel as being so... enthusiastic in these matters, but he had been taught differently. Aziraphale had actually been the one to make the first step, and it had been quite an aggressive one, leaving the demon panting despite the non-existent need to breathe. The passion hadn't lessened any within the following months, had stayed the same, had sometimes even spiked, and Crowley had changed a lot of ancient preconceptions he had had about the usually so mild-mannered and easily flustered angel. Well, angels in general, actually.

Yep, Aziraphale was quite something in bed, and outside when let loose. And boy, he could be very loose...

Snake eyes hidden behind the shades rested on the well-manicured fingers as they moved over paper or leather bindings, held a pen or pointed at something. Those clever fingers had driven him close to mad on several occasions and when Aziraphale dropped the angelic part, he could be quite a demon.

Oh yes...

Crowley shifted again, feeling something inside him curl with warmth at the memories.

Those fingers had been on him this morning, stroking and caressing and exploring, soft and gentle, sometimes demanding, and he had reciprocated without hesitation.

He followed one of the hands up to Aziraphale's mouth as a finger tapped against the lips he had kissed just a few hours ago. Crowley licked his own, slightly distracted by now.

Yes, his angel was radiant. Post-coital bliss radiant. And it stuck. Not just for a few minutes or an hour after sex; it stuck for most of the day.

The demon felt his fingers twitch, wanting to touch his lover, run his hands over that smooth skin.

Crowley gritted his teeth and slouched more, growling softly to himself. It startled the young couple not far away, but he didn't care. They hurriedly went down another aisle.

Aziraphale wasn't the epitome of a man's wet dream. He was nice to look at, pleasant, with warm blue eyes and dark blond, slightly wavy hair. No curls, just waves. He was on the pale side of life, as expected from a bookworm, and he insisted on wearing clothes Crowley wouldn't be caught dead in. Well, if he was able to die, that is. Anyway, he wouldn't wear them.

Now and then Aziraphale went against his 'dress code' and tried jeans and even t-shirts, which usually resulted in people giving him another look or Crowley kissing the living daylights out of him. His angel might not be an athlete or packed with muscles, but those legs in jeans made the demon crave something more than just a little kiss or pat.

Now the blue eyes briefly met his own. Crowley felt himself rumble again at the knowing, mild smile on the wonderful lips.

Bloody radiant angel!

He wanted nothing more than to grab him, bend him over the counter and...

He clenched his jaw and throttled that thought. His teeth gnashed.

It wasn't like they hadn't had sex just a few hours ago, no. But the mere thought of touching that supple body, feel the flutter of the belly against his hands, running careful claws over vulnerable sides...

Crowley erupted from his chair, upsetting a woman who had just entered, and stormed out of the book shop. He needed to cool off. He needed to go somewhere, do something... whatever. Thinking of his angel while looking at the handsome personification of his thoughts did things Crowley would never openly confess to.

He ended up in the park, taking his mood out on unsuspecting skaters, joggers and a very annoying little dog that nearly choked on the last yip-yip-yip. It's owner, a fat little woman with shrill hair and even worse make-up, cooed over it, and Crowley almost gagged at the 'oh my little darling, mummy's here'.

Flopping down on the grass, glowering at a bird that dared to land not far away, Crowley knew he had it bad.

Very bad.

Really, really bad.

And usually bad was good in a demonic sort of way.

In this case, though... well, in this case it involved an angel he was madly in love with and couldn't keep his hands of. It involved a mild-mannered do-gooder with eyes that he could drown in, that showed Crowley such love and affection the demon was left reeling and in free fall. He didn't know what Aziraphale saw in his own eyes when he took off the sunglasses- aside from the demon he was. Crowley couldn't help what he was, nor would he change it, because it was what they were. He wouldn't change his angel for the world; what Aziraphale was, how he was, it was what Crowley had fallen in love with.

And love was not for demons.

"Nngh," he muttered, clenching his hands into fists.

It wasn't like him to have a crisis over something like this, but then again, he had never felt so much, wanted so much, been so dependent on someone. Aziraphale had been there for six thousand years and, if all went well and no new Apocalypse loomed over them, would be there for another six thousand.

"Sssnghr!"

He clawed his hands into his hair, tugging painfully at it.

Just thinking of so much time with this delightful, delectable, wonderful, radiant being... Crowley wanted to just jump up, storm back, grab his angel and...

He fought for control. His body didn't like it.

Treacherous bag of unwanted hormones!

They had gone through a lot lately, something that fused them more tightly together, firming their relationship in ways Crowley had never thought possible. Even another angel had been unable to sway Aziraphale from him, had made his angel defend him even with the looming possibility of being reported.

Nothing had ever come out of that. No one had come and investigated them. Or recalled them. Or sent new orders. They lived peacefully, did their jobs, and they did it together. They were good together. They balanced each other so well.

Crowley sighed miserably.

Yes, he had it bad.

Images of the pale form, so pliant under his touch, arching into every caress, came back, haunting him. Memories of those wicked, un-angelic lips on him made him groan. He recalled the tight heat that was his angel, the passion and fervour and vibrant life...

The demon tugged harder at the dark hair, wincing as some was actually pulled out.

"Ouch," he muttered.

It took him another two hours to finally calm down enough to go back, though he wondered if it was really a good idea. As if in an afterthought he manipulated the signals at a major intersection, invoking a failure that resulted in a total congestion.

As he entered the book shop, it was empty. No customers, no Aziraphale, but he felt the angel's presence. Sunlight streamed in through the window, bathing everything into a warm light. Crowley crossed the show room and walked past the 'no customers beyond this point' warning without a thought.

He found his angel in the back room, going through what looked like a price guide for collector's editions of rare books. Glasses- which he really didn't need but insisted belonged to his human appearance as a bookshop owner -- perched precariously on his nose, the wavy hair a bit unruly, and dressed only in his white shirt, Aziraphale looked positively...

Crowley kicked that thought in the ribs and watched it slink away.

He could behave himself. He could. Really. He wasn't some kind of sex-starved fiend.

Oh He... shit!

He had lived without sex quite well. Tempting humans to commit adultery, to lust after thy neighbour, and busty blondes, and buy porn had been enough. He had never felt cravings like these; he had never even considered a close, physical encounter with a human female or male. Everything had been just peachy.

Until the angel had wormed his way underneath all his layers of shields and made a home inside his soul. Because that was where Aziraphale belonged.

Crowley shuddered again at the warmth the thought of a soul mate evoked.

Aziraphale looked and gave him a smile. "Hello, Crowley."

Crowley swallowed hard.

He wanted to kiss him. He wanted to kiss him so badly, push him against the wall and feel the handsome body respond. He wanted to tell him what he meant to this demon, what it was like to have him so close, so intimately, so completely.

But no words came out.

"Uh," he managed.

Aziraphale frowned a little. "Are you okay, my dear?"

"Uh."

"Crowley?"

"Fine," he managed.

G...He... Whatever! He so badly wanted to touch him, kiss him into the next millennium...

Aziraphale tilted his head, then suddenly smiled. It was that knowing smile, that blessed knowing smile that told Crowley that Aziraphale was well aware of something Crowley wasn't.

And shit, he was still radiant. And radiating. Shit, was he radiating.

Even the halo paled in comparison.

Crowley wondered almost feverishly why no one in the bookshop had felt the urge to make out, have wild sex, right here and now. Considering that there had been one young couple who could do all that- he had been doubtful about the old lady and the man- it had been all too calm.

Maybe it was only affecting him.

Maybe it was targeting demons.

Possessiveness rose inside him. No demon aside from him would lay a little finger, tentacle or claw on his angel!

"Are you sure you're quite alright?" the calm voice interrupted his thoughts. "You do look a bit on the pale side."

Suddenly Aziraphale was in front of him and Crowley couldn't help himself. His hands were on the angel's hips, his mouth on the divine one in front of him, and even though Crowley had entertained all kinds of wild thoughts what he wanted to do, it was a gentle, loving and altogether tender encounter.

Aziraphale sighed softly, his arms around the demon's middle, holding him close, and Crowley let his hands slide to the firm behind in a warm caress. Crowley kissed the lips, then trailed up to one blue eye, to one temple, down to an ear, and he heard Aziraphale's breathing hitch.

"Zira," Crowley murmured, lips brushing over the ear. "I... I..."

The body in his arms was warm and soft and so very familiar. He could feel muscles underneath the layers of clothes, underneath that ridiculously old-fashioned outfit, and something shivered through him. As much as he wanted to sink into the heat that was his angel, he also wanted him to know something.

Crowley could be gentle. He was, in every encounter with Aziraphale, despite the claws and fangs and possessive kisses. He worshipped his angel's body, would never hurt him, and sometimes those emotions raced through him, burning everything, burning him.

Like right now.

When he felt nothing but tenderness, need and... and...

"I..." he stammered, fighting with the word.

Aziraphale pushed back a little and the blue eyes gazed at him. The angel's fingers caressed his face, fingertips stumbling over the sunglasses.

"I know, dear."

But he wanted to say it. Not just that he wanted to really, really, really have his way with Aziraphale in a decidedly wicked fashion, preferably now and right away and with abandon; that he longed to hear the sweet sound of completion from his angel's lips. No, he wanted to say it. That special something that Aziraphale knew but had never heard.

"Zira..." he fought on.

Crowley let his forehead fall gently against his angelic counterpart's, trembling with the effort. Demons didn't feel like this, but he did. Always had, in a way. Aziraphale was what he had wanted, what was his... absolution, his redemption.

The thoughts made him shudder.

"Crowley," Aziraphale murmured, the voice so low, so erotic, the goose bumps rose unbidden. "Don't."

"But... I... You're... I need you," he breathed. "I want you."

"I know."

Crowley swallowed and suddenly his lips found one ear again.

"iloveyou," he whispered, feather-soft, so low and breathy, no one else could possibly have heard it.

° ° °

It was one of those perfect, sunny, balmy days. Birds in the trees, a gentle breeze blowing, the grass lush and green, and the clouds seemed painted onto the azure sky.

Right in the middle of this vast niceness was a small table. A quaint little construction that had probably been the dream of every housewife of the 1950s, complete with a matching tablecloth, napkins, graceful and absolutely terribly fragile China with a flower pattern, and a plate full of delicious tea time sweets.

Two men sat at the table, sipping tea, having pastries, and talking. Both were nondescript in their blandness, but whoever came close enough could feel the incredible oldness radiating off them. Those were two beings who had been around since the beginning of time, and might even have created time.

"We should put a stop to this," one of them remarked, astoundingly black eyes regarding the perfect landscape.

"We should?"

"Yes, look at them!" The man gestured with a biscuit.

"They are quite nice looking."

A grimace was the answer. "Nice is not very demonic."

"So, you want to stop them?"

"Too late anyway," came the grumble and a few biscuit crumbs made it onto the black trousers. They quickly disappeared. "We should never have allowed it to happen in the first place."

"What part of it?" A sip of tea and a mild look.

"Everything."

"It started quite a while ago."

"I know. I was there."

"And here I thought you had been caught up in those terrible affairs with that nice young lady and the"

The other was given a pointed look and a calm smile was his answer.

"I know what happened. And if you hadn't been such nitpicker, you'd have kept Crawly."

"I couldn't have. There are Rules."

"You made them."

Another smile.

"Sometimes I think you set this up," came a low mutter.

"Pray tell, why should I?"

There was a wince. "Don't use that word. As for why, you always quote that blessed plan of yours." There was an ungentlemanly snort.

"The Divine Plan."

"Yes, the perfectly good excuse and reason for everything that happens or fails to." The man grinned nastily.

"Yes, it is a good one."

Another cream filled pastry was taken. "These are quite divine."

"I know. I made them."

"And here I thought highly caloric sweets had been one of our inventions."

"No, I think we did that."

"Devilishly clever."

"Should I be offended?"

The other smiled around his third pastry. "I don't know. Are you?"

Tea was refilled and slowly sipped.

"They're setting a bad example to other demons and angels, the lot of them," the first man remarked after a while. "We can't let that go on."

"What should we do?"

"Well, we could always throw them out."

"I won't let him Fall for this one. They do make a nice couple."

"You only say so because it's that blessed True Love and not Temptation of the Pure." He shuddered a little. "And I didn't say Fall. If he Falls, he ends up with me, and I've got enough problems as it is. As for Crowley fallen angels can't really fall any deeper."

There was a contemplative look passing over the nondescript features. "We could always push them out of the system."

"You mean falsify records? I'm shocked!"

"That's your department. I work correct accounts."

A snort. "Right... So, we revoke their status and then what? Let them freelance?"

"What a novel idea." More tea was sipped. "It might just work. I agree that leaving them on our employment records does shed a bad light on things."

"Bad's good."

"To phrase it for you: it makes your side look good. Demons will have a lot of sympathy votes."

The man shivered. "Ah, I see your point."

"Good. So we agree that we need to... separate our sides from this lovely couple?"

"As long as you stop from referring to them as lovely, yes, I agree with you."

Another pastry was cleaned off the plate.

They both watched the peaceful landscape, steam rising from fragile China cups, and the pastry plate was refilled.

"And no mumbling about Divine Plans, alright?" the dark-eyed man suddenly broke the silence, raising a finger in warning.

There was a soft chuckle. "Would I ever?"

The other rose gracefully and smiled at the seated one. He began to walk away, then stopped as if struck by an afterthought.

"By the way," he said conversationally. "Next time, it's my place."

And with that he was gone.

° ° °

Aziraphale was moulded against him, no air between their bodies. Crowley squeezed his eyes shut, shivering at the wave of emotions the little words launched. He groaned softly.

His head was gently forced to face his angel and the glasses removed. He blinked, feeling wide open and vulnerable, and the expression in Aziraphale's eyes was breath-taking.

"Angel," Crowley murmured.

Lips collided with his, asking for an answer that was quickly given, and he dived into the moist heat, meeting the exploring tongue. Without conscious thought he moved them around to press Aziraphale against the wall where he gasped softly. Crowley pulled back, heat coiling in his stomach. He gazed at his angel, still so radiant and beautiful. His true form was much more of both, but nothing could compare to this... this mundane human body with all its imperfections.

"Is that why you ran?" Aziraphale asked after a moment, one hand resting warmly against Crowley's neck.

The demon shrugged a little. It had been many things, most of all the raw sexuality of his angel.

"Didn't want to embarrass you by throwing you over the counter," he finally murmured.

Aziraphale chuckled. "Much appreciated, my dear."

His fingers did wonderful things to Crowley's neck and the demon found himself rumbling softly, almost a purr of delight. He fought the ever-more emerging softer side in him, wanting nothing more than to snap, snarl or growl, but it was impossible. Crowley buried his head in the crook of Aziraphale's neck and bit it gently.

The angel flinched.

"Crowley!"

But the exclamation contained little protest.

When he snaked a hand between their bodies, down south, caressing the noticeable bulge, Aziraphale released a shuddering breath.

The need was still there, bright and, well, needy, in his mind, but Crowley took his time. No rush. Just leisurely kissing and fondling and generally making each other feel good. He wanted his angel to know how much he was loved, and that wasn't done the rough way.

"Zira," he murmured again and again. "Angel...

Aziraphale had his arms around Crowley's neck, nipping and licking at his lips, his useless glasses askew and Crowley picked them off his nose, tossing them aside to a little protest from his lover.

"Close up," he suggested.

"It's just past three," Aziraphale told him, light outrage in his voice.

"With your irregular hours, you'd shock your customers by opening for a whole day," he teased and silenced the outrage with another kiss. "Close up, angel," he begged softly.

Aziraphale did so in the end. Crowley slipped his hand under the old fashioned style sweater and touched what he had been thinking about for the whole day. The soft skin made him groan and he wanted to see it so badly, he pushed up the clothes and heard Aziraphale inhale sharply.

Crowley contented himself to licking and nipping, caressing and teasing the pliant form, his claws lightly scratching along the ribcage.

Blue eyes dilated and the pale skin flushed.

Crowley nibbled at the bared throat, licking a wet path up to the jaw where he placed a tender bite.

Mine, the demon could only think. Mine. My angel.

There was a sudden, sharp manifestation of divine power. Crowley winced, almost yelping, and his claws convulsed. Aziraphale hissed as their tips punctured his skin in two places, but whatever pain he had felt, it was chased away by his whispered shock.

Crowley's head whipped around as he felt the manifestation so close and an involuntary hiss left his lips when his eyes fell on the figure just a few feet away. It was a man, tall and slender, with light brown hair that was neatly cut and combed. He was dressed in a typical business suit, wearing an open coat over it, and the blue eyes seemed to be looking right through them.

An angel, Crowley thought, panic and fear colliding in his mind in a tumble. He locked down on the fear and let his anger take over.

Aziraphale untangled himself from the demon and smoothed his rumpled clothing, suddenly looking like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Well, more like a celestial being caught with his hands on a demon in a very intimate way.

"What the fuck do you want here?" Crowley demanded.

The angel grimaced. "You haven't changed, Crawly."

"I bloody well hope not!"

The angel's eyes were on Aziraphale. "I have come to deliver a message."

Aziraphale frowned and pushed away from Crowley, shoulders squared, face too pale.

"Our Lord has watched your... collaborations with interest, Aziraphale, and he has come to a decision concerning you and this hellish creature."

Crowley's gut tightened and he felt another hiss leave his lips. Yellow eyes flared red.

"Your status as a field agent has been revoked as of now."

Aziraphale lost all color now. "No..." he managed, hands beginning to tremble.

Crowley's eyes turned fiery red. "You bloody son of a bitch!" he hissed, then cursing more viciously, and for a moment he didn't really address the angel in front of them, who had only slightly flinched. "You can't let him Fall!"

Aziraphale sank back against the wall, hands clenching into his sweater over the stomach area. He made a sick little sound.

Crowley felt his hackles rise and flexed his claws, snarling softly. The shock over Aziraphale's expulsion was mixed with bottomless, red anger. He wanted to go to his angel and calm him. He wanted to bury his claws deep in the fucking celestial messenger still standing so bloody calmly in front of them. He wanted to curse Him, though that would be the most futile effort.

"Aziraphale hasn't Fallen," the messenger said. "Only his status has been revoked. I'm surprised you haven't heard it from your side, too."

Crowley's eyes widened in shock. "What?" he blurted.

"I believe it was a mutual agreement of both Sides that we revoke your individual status to avert further problems."

"Further problems?" Aziraphale whispered, still so ghastly white and trembling.

The messenger looked coolly at him. "I can't understand that He forgave you your meddling in the End, but His Divine Plan cannot be questioned."

Crowley grimaced. Oh, those sickly sweet words of total belief and dedication. He was reminded again why he had left.

"But He also overlooked your corruption by this creature. Collaborating with a demon." The messenger sniffed, then seemed to pull himself together. "I was told to deliver this to you, Aziraphale. You are no longer a field agent of Heaven."

"What am I then?" Aziraphale asked softly, voice wavering. "You said I haven't Fallen..."

"No. You haven't. You are still an angel and that abomination is still a demon."

"Up yours," Crowley snarled.

He so badly wanted to take his angel into his arms and soothe those tremors. Aziraphale looked worse by the minute. And he even more badly wanted to kick the messenger angel's ass back where he had come from.

"Uncouth beast."

"Thanks for the compliment." A snake-like smile was directed at the angel. "I can say the same about you."

The angel sniffed again in disdain.

"I suggest you leave," Crowley added in a sweet and impossibly polite tone of voice. "You've outstayed your welcome." He polished his still very visible claws on his t-shirt front.

"Are you threatening me, demon?"

"Who? Me?"

Innocence radiated off Crowley in waves.

The angel looked at them for a moment, then left, walking out the door, which locked itself after him.

Aziraphale sank down the wall with a weak whimper. Crowley knelt down beside him, touching one shoulder. His angel felt cold, almost fragile, and he was shaking.

"Zira?"

"Why?" came a soft whisper.

Crowley sighed. "I don't know. Ineffability? No idea. I mean, you didn't Fall, right?"

"How can you be sure?" the angel snapped, blue eyes blazing with a brief outpouring of un-angelic rage.

Crowley smiled a little. "Wings, angel?"

Aziraphale swallowed, hesitant. Finally, almost in slow motion, the wings appeared, unfurling. Crowley smiled more, reaching out with claw-less fingers to run a caressing touch over the pristine white feathers. So wonderfully bright and healthy and groomed.

"Beautiful," he murmured.

Aziraphale gazed at his wings in wonder, one hand closing around the long feathers.

"Beautiful," Crowley repeated, entranced by the whiteness.

His angel hadn't Fallen. Demons didn't have white wings. Hell had a reputation to keep and black was the fashion colour Below.

"Like you," he whispered. "Like my angel. Aziraphale"

Aziraphale looked up, swallowing hard, his skin still so pale.

"I love you," Crowley said, for the first time not feeling the all-constricting sensation at the mere thought of saying it out loud. "I love you, angel." He reached out and cupped one cheek. "And you're still that. An angel."

"But... what the messenger said..."

"He said we're off the employment list, nothing else. You're just no longer a pawn. And if the winged creep is right, neither am I. Though I doubt Below will just let me go."

Aziraphale grabbed his wrist with the free hand. "What if you are? What if we are no longer reporting to anyone?"

Not that they had sent any reports lately. They had been suspiciously absent from all orders, had neither seen nor heard of any kind of divine or demonic being, and still they had done their work.

Crowley shrugged. "No idea. What do you want to do, angel?"

Aziraphale was still ghastly pale, so Crowley gathered him close, feeling him tremble with the reaction to it all.

"I... I don't know. I need... time. And a church."

Crowley grimaced but didn't let do. "A church?"

A little nod was the answer and he sighed in resignation.

"I don't think he'll answer the phone, Zira."

Aziraphale chuckled softly, his wings settling around them. Crowley nuzzled the feathers, delighting in their clean smell.

"It's just something I have to do."

"Oh well. Now?"

The angel tightened his hold. "No," he whispered. "Not right now."

And so they sat in the back of the little book shop, each lost in his thoughts, and Crowley doing his best to calm his angel.

° ° °

The young man with the dark hair, leather jacket and jeans slouching outside of Her Holiness, a small church that was nestled between old buildings that had been there around the birth of London and new skyscrapers that dwarfed it even more than it was small already, drew more than one look. Crowley chewed on a piece of cherry-flavoured gum and finally spit it out, drawing an enraged look from a young mother with two children. He ignored her.

Aziraphale had gone into the church an hour ago and by now Crowley was growing nervous. He drummed his fingers against the stone wall around the church.

The shock of their changed status had finally reached Crowley as well, the fact hammered home by the note taped to his flat's door that simply stated 'You're out. Don't expect benefits'. He had stared at the hasty scribble, which had soon after combusted into flames, leaving an ugly mark on his door. He had miracled the mark away.

They both still had their full powers. Wings, too. Crowley's eyes hadn't changed, neither had his attitude or his penchant for trouble-making. Aziraphale still couldn't help doing good things here or there, even if people really hadn't been that bad off to start with. It was in their blood.

But his angel had to have a word with his boss. Former boss. Ex-employer. Whatever. Crowley had no such intentions. Good riddance and such. He was his own demon now; independent. Self-employed, so to speak. He had no idea what he would do with his newfound freedom, but one thing was for sure, he wouldn't leave his angel alone.

Glaring at the church, Crowley gnashed his teeth. What was Aziraphale thinking? Spending an hour already in that holy building and talking to someone who had sacked him? No one would listen! Crowley knew that. He had experience.

Well, he was a fallen angel, which gave him a different kind of status in His eyes, but still...

Slumping against the wall, Crowley sighed deeply and messed up the cell phone of a teenage girl walking past him. He erased her contacts, her phone book and all the ring tones she had spent so much money on acquiring.

He felt marginally better.

"Really, my dear," a gentle voice said and Crowley turned his head to look into two condescending blue eyes.

He shrugged. "So?" the demon asked. "Any luck?"

Aziraphale's face fell. "No."

"And it took you over an hour to understand that the line's dead?"

"Crowley, please."

He wrapped an arm around the miserable form and pulled him close, pressing a kiss against the dark blond head.

"Zira," he murmured comfortingly.

Strong fingers clenched into his leather jacket and finally slid underneath, holding on to the slender form. Crowley felt a whole range of mixed emotions radiate off his angel and he simply held on.

Bugger all who gave them strange looks.

They ended up in Crowley's flat, the ever-clean environment looking nothing like home. Crowley had spent so much time with Aziraphale, in his book shop, in his back room, in his home, he hadn't really thought much about his own. Now it looked decidedly sterile compared to the cluttered mess that was his angel's living space.

Pulling Aziraphale with him onto the white leather couch, he let his lover cuddle up to him. Nuzzling the silky hair, Crowley hummed softly.

"You okay?" he finally asked.

"Yes. It's just... strange. I... I'm waiting for something to happen. Something bad."

The demon stroked over the too tense back. "Nothing will. You haven't Fallen, angel. You haven't. You're still you, Zira." Another kiss against the soft hair. "Trust me. You still feel the same."

"But why?" Aziraphale murmured wretchedly. "Why did He do this?"

"Well, there's the easy answer and there's no answer, the easy answer being 'His Divine Plan'."

Aziraphale grimaced. "I doubt I am part of it."

Crowley smiled slyly. "Who knows? An angel consorting with a demon...?"

The grimace came back. "Crowley."

"Just guessing here. Relax, Zira. We'll be just fine."

"But what am I supposed to do now?"

The demon chuckled. "What you've always done. Do good, thwart me, whatever comes to mind. I'll be causing enough trouble to keep you happy, hm?"

The blue eyes showed a lot of conflicting emotions, but finally Aziraphale nodded slowly. "I suppose that's okay then."

"Yep, it is." Crowley planted a kiss on his angel's lips then, getting a gentle response. "More than okay. Just wonderful. Nothing else needed."

Aziraphale closed his eyes and sank into the next kiss, pushing all thought out of his mind, losing himself in the heat and strength and sheer eroticism that was Anthony J. Crowley.


End file.
